


staring at the sunset

by dettiot



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 04:50:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2609138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dettiot/pseuds/dettiot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>say you’ll see me again/even if it’s just in your wildest dreams</i>.  Oliver’s having dreams.  What is he trying to tell himself in Felicity’s voice?  Title from Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift.  No spoilers past 3x05.</p>
            </blockquote>





	staring at the sunset

**Author's Note:**

> I know I’m not the only one to get a massive amount of Olicity feels from Taylor Swift’s 1989. So voila, my contribution to the TSwift-inspired Oliver/Felicity fic canon! I hope you enjoy--and if you’d like to see sneak peeks of my fics and a lot of Arrow-related gifsets, visit me on [Tumblr](http://dettiot.tumblr.com/)!

Dreams were about symbols and metaphors, weren’t they? About your brain dealing with things that you couldn’t or wouldn’t deal with when you were awake.

That probably explained why he kept dreaming about Felicity. That, he understood. But what he didn’t understand was what was going on in the dreams.

Oliver shifted on his stool, pursing his lips a little as he worked on sharpening an arrowhead. Normally the task relaxed him, let him have a break from his normal intensity and focus. A bit of quiet in the middle of the storm. But today, the repetitive task had let his mind wander. 

To Felicity. 

The annoying smart-ass part of his brain, the one that reminded him of Tommy, pointed out that it didn’t take much for him to think about Felicity. Which was both accurate and not what he wanted to think about right now. 

No, he wanted to think about the dreams he kept having. 

_Which means you’re still thinking about Felicity. Dude, seriously?_

With a grimace, Oliver crouched over the whetstone and ignored the ghost of Tommy in his mind. 

The locations changed in his dreams. Sometimes they were in the backyard of the Queen mansion. Often they were in the Glades, standing in the street just outside of Verdant. And a few times, they had been on Lian Yu. 

And it was always sunset. 

_“It’s a sunrise, Oliver.”_

The dreams would start with him appearing behind her, wearing his leathers, hood up. She would usually be in some kind of dress, but a floaty and soft one. Not something he’d ever seen her in before. Her arms and shoulders were always bare, with thin straps holding up the dress. Tiny little straps that made him want to brush them aside with his nose as he peppered her skin with kisses, as he touched her sun-warmed skin and . . .

And this wasn’t something he should be thinking about here, when he could hear the noise of the rest of his team moving about in the room. 

The dreams. Keep this about the actual dreams, instead of what he wished would happen. In his dreams or in reality. 

And wasn’t it ironic that Oliver Queen had never dreamt about sex with the woman he was deeply, madly, totally in love with?

XXX

_“What are you looking at, Oliver?”_

Her shoulders lower, her body relaxing: little changes easy for him to pick up with how the setting sun cast a halo around her. He’s silent, lost in this moment and making her repeat her question. “What are you looking at?” she says.

“You,” he says, the simple truth he couldn’t let himself say any time but now, anyplace but here. 

Felicity glances back at him over her shoulder, her loose curls shifting against her back, her glasses sparkling in a ray of sunlight. “Thank you,” she says, a small smile flashing across her red lips. 

Oliver takes a step forward and she turns her head to look back at the view. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she says. 

“Beautiful?” he asks, trying to see this corner of the Glades with her eyes. 

“The sun’s a different color now. Because of the angle of the Earth to the Sun, the refraction bends the spectrum of light . . . but that’s not what I meant,” she says, and he can see one hand lift to adjust her glasses. 

“So what do you mean?” he asks, feeling his lips quirk. 

Her hands gesture in front of her. “All of this. It’s beautiful, in its own way. A place working to rebuild, failing and falling but always getting back up. Stubborn and determined.”

It’s the same kind of thought he’s had, when he looks out at the Glades. That it was struggling to survive. Just like he had. Just like he was. 

“That’s why I like it here,” he says, hesitating before taking another step towards her. Not quite standing by her side, but close. “It wants to survive.” 

“No,” she says gently, her voice soft. “It wants to live.” 

XXX

_“I think I got the idea for the fern from here. During the second time I came here, not the first, since I didn’t really notice much the first time.”_

Felicity is silhouetted by the setting sun, standing on the cliff that marks one of the highest points on Lian Yu. The whole of the island is before them, revealing in pockets of light the forest, the rocky outgrowths, and the ribbon of beach surrounding it all like a necklace around a delicate throat. 

“Is that so?” he asks, feeling lighter than normal. Strange that Lian Yu lets him relax, but maybe it’s because he always knows what to expect here. It’s back in the real world that he feels out of control. 

Her ponytail bobs as she nods, the wind catching the strands and blowing them against her neck. He wishes he could rest his hand on her neck, give her warmth against the settling chill. 

“I saw the ferns at the edge of the forest, all green in the shadows, and they made me think of you.” She looks back at him, no glasses between him and her blue eyes. “And besides, what sort of plant do you give a man? You don’t give Oliver Queen flowers, after all. So it was either a fern or a Venus fly trap.” 

He chuckles, feeling the joy at being with her, listening to her, experiencing how her mind works. “I’ve been given flowers before.” 

“I bet you have,” she says, a bit tartly, but there’s warmth in her voice. 

“If I hadn’t needed to talk to Lance before our date, I’d have given you flowers. Bright, colorful ones. Not roses. Something . . . different.” 

Her eyes are wide when she looks back at him--with surprise? No, it’s not that--and she turns back to the sunset. “I know, Oliver.” 

XXX

_“I could strangle you.”_

There’s no heat or anger in her words, but Oliver knows that she means them.

“If it was possible, I’d strangle myself,” Oliver says, coming within an arm’s length of her. “Because . . . because that was pretty stupid.” 

“Finally, he gets it,” Felicity says, throwing her hands up in the air. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the reflection of her movement in the plate-glass window of Big Belly. 

A long silence falls, with Oliver trying to catch her face in the glass, but the glare of the one ray of sunlight breaking through the clouds manages to hit the window just right, so it’s impossible to see her expression.

“Do you doubt me?” 

Oliver turns back to her and sees her arms wrapped around herself, her hair cascading over her shoulders as if to keep her warm. He wants to rest his hand on her shoulder, reassure her with his touch, but he knows he can’t. 

“Do you think I’m pulling away?” she asks, her voice slightly choked. “Is that why you went ahead without me? Leave before I leave?” 

“No,” he replies, putting everything he is into his voice. “No, Felicity.”

“Then why?” The anguish is obvious and he rushes to get the words out. Because he knows he needs to touch her. And whenever he touches her, the dream ends. 

He steps as close to her as he dares, closer than he ever has before, while gripping his bow--the bow she made for him--so tight that the leather of his glove creaks. “I went ahead without you because for a moment, I thought this could be the last time I’d have to do it. That this was my last fight and if--no, when, when I made it through, I’d be done. I could hang up the Hood and stop fucking up my knee over and over and . . . and I could just be Oliver Queen and find out if that was enough, if I could handle worrying about you as only Oliver, if I didn’t have to worry about you as the Arrow, too.” 

Her sigh is soft but long. “Oliver, it doesn’t work like that--” 

When his fingers touch her shoulder, though, that’s all she has the chance to say. 

XXX

_“Do you come here a lot?”_

The sunset is dappled through the trees that ring this section of the backyard. It’s nice, peaceful. A feeling reinforced by the gravestones in front of them, bearing the names Robert Queen and Oliver Queen.

“In my dreams or . . .?” Oliver has to ask, curious about what exactly she’s asking. 

Felicity gives a small shrug, leaving the answer up to him. Oliver wishes he had pockets in his leathers now, deep enough for him to sink his hands into them. He doesn’t know why, since she only ever glances back at him. 

“Thea wanted me to get rid of the stone after I came back,” he says slowly. “But for some reason, I didn’t want to.” 

“‘For some reason’?” Felicity parrots, switching the skirt of her dress against her legs. 

He gazes at the back of her head, wanting to move up behind her and wrap his arms around her. Especially for this conversation. “I think you know the reason.” 

“Of course I do--being in your head like this, I know everything about you,” she replies, making him huff out a laugh. 

“You’re not letting me off the hook at all tonight,” he says. 

The mischievous smirk she levels him with over her shoulder is something he would love to see every day for the rest of his life. “When have I ever?” 

“Never,” he says, feeling his throat tighten up. “Not from the moment we met.” 

“It was red,” she says softly. “I can’t believe you remembered that.” 

Oliver notices how her ponytail is very curly, in the way she used to wear her hair when they first started working together. “I remember everything, Felicity.” 

XXX

_“I’m proud of you, you know.”_

It should feel odd to stand in his old office at Queen Consolidated in his leathers. But considering how many times he has been here as the Arrow, it would probably be strange if it didn’t feel kind of normal.

Although it’s not his office anymore--it’s Felicity’s. Or maybe it will be his again. 

“Because I got the company back?” he asks, gazing at her in her pale sundress and bare feet. 

“No--yes, well, no,” she says, sounding a bit exasperated by the end of that. “I mean, yes, that’s part of it. But the bigger part is . . . you were willing to admit you were wrong to let the company go. That after all, you should be here.” 

Oliver tries for a smile, knowing she’d know it was there. “I have admitted to being wrong before, you know.” 

“Not like this,” Felicity whispers. 

And she’s right. Not nearly on this level. 

Yet the biggest mistake he’s ever made is still waiting to be fixed. 

He doesn’t know what to say, so he looks out the floor-to-ceiling windows, taking in the fading sunlight. The wispy clouds are shades of yellow and orange and pink in a sky the color of a pearl. It’s a time of day that’s very Felicity. 

“You know I won’t take away any of this,” he says. “Your office, the department you run. Hell, you were more of a CEO than I ever was.”

“You won’t take anything--will you give me more?” 

Should it be possible for his heart to skip a beat right now? “M-more?” he bleats out. 

When she looks back at him, his eyes snap to her lips, pink and bright. “I want more. Which means you want more. Maybe it’s time, Oliver.” 

XXX

_“At least there’s more light this time.”_

Oliver feels himself tense as he realizes they’re in the foyer of the Queen mansion. He’s had nightmares like this before. But this doesn’t feel like a nightmare. 

Because the sunshine is falling through the windows, lighting up the room, making him feel warm and safe and protected, like he used to feel whenever he walked into this house before the island. 

Felicity is looking towards the front door, her hands resting against the round table in the middle of the foyer. Her nails aren’t painted just one color: they’re pink and orange and yellow and peach and gold. As he gazes at her, he realizes her dress is different, too. It’s not a sundress, it’s more like an evening gown: the skirt to the floor, in a shimmering creamy gold that sparkles in the light. 

She’s the sunset. 

He swallows, his throat closing up a little, his fists clenching. He doesn’t understand what’s happening. Doesn’t know why they’re here, in the place that’s featured in his nightmares. He’s just waiting for the nightmare to start. 

“You don’t get it, do you?” 

Sighing, Oliver rolls his shoulders, trying to keep his cool. “I guess I don’t.” 

Her look back at him is annoyed, like she doesn’t want him to play the dumb card. Taking a deep breath, he tries again. “I don’t understand these dreams. You and me, always in the sunset . . .” He pauses. “Maybe it’s the only place I think we can be. Between day and night.” 

“Maybe. Or maybe it’s the place where you can be both Oliver and the Arrow.” 

His mouth falls open and it takes a moment for his brain to really catch up. “What?” 

She looks over her shoulder at him again. “Look at yourself, Oliver. What are you wearing?” 

“My leath--” he starts to say as he looks down, only to stop mid-word. Because every other time, in every other dream, he was wearing his Arrow costume. But this time . . . he’s in jeans and a plaid shirt. He reaches up, realizing that the weight on his shoulders is the half-jacket of his hood, like he wore it on the island, but the hood itself is pushed back. And he’s holding his bow in his hand. 

Felicity’s smile is soft and warm and God, it’s like she loves him. “See? Here, you’re Oliver Queen, the Arrow. And the world hasn’t ended.”

It all seems so simple when she says it. So easy. 

So possible. 

He licks his lips. “But it might.” 

“Maybe,” she agrees. “But there’s one more thing, Oliver.” 

The way she says his name makes it feel more like his than ever before. “What?” 

To his shock, Felicity does something different now. She turns around, facing him, leaning back against the table. The skirt of her dress pulls back and he can see that her feet are bare. She gazes at him, her head tilting to one side like when he claimed his coffee shop was in a bad neighborhood. “This isn’t the sunset,” she says, gesturing to the light coming in through the high windows. 

“It isn’t?” he asks, looking up and trying to determine what time of day it is, using the ability he honed on the island. And for the first time, he realizes that the light isn’t right for it to be the end of the day. 

When he looks back down, Felicity is right in front of him. “It’s a sunrise, Oliver.” 

XXX

That was the last dream. He hadn’t had one for a week, and in the meantime, her last words keep ringing in his head. Repeating over and over, driving him to distraction. Telling him that everything he thought might not be real. Because . . . because he knew it wasn’t really Felicity in his dreams. She just represented some part of him--like the sound of Tommy’s voice when Oliver mocked himself. 

But if Felicity just represented some part of himself, something that came out in his dreams . . . what was he trying to tell himself? That he was wrong to push her away? That he should finally tell her that he finally got what she had said in the aftermath of Sara’s death--that not only did he not want to die down here, that he wanted to live? 

Wanted to live with her? 

The arrow slipped off the whetstone and he nearly caught his thumb against the rough surface. He reared back and took a deep breath. 

“Oliver?” 

Frowning, Oliver looked over and saw Felicity standing by her desk. “Felicity. I thought you had left,” he said, rubbing a hand over his eyes and trying to collect himself. 

“I did, hours ago. But then I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d just get an early start.” She gave him a pale smile and held up the to-go cup she’s clutching in her hand. “I asked if I could get my coffee in a bucket, but the barista just laughed at me.” 

Her words made him smile, just like always. “New barista, huh?” 

“Just when I get one trained, they quit for some reason,” Felicity said, her face lighting up a bit as she sets down her coffee and slides her coat from her shoulders. 

“Their loss,” he said, watching her. Watching her as his mind begins slotting pieces into place.

He spent two years falling in love with her, yet it also only took a few days. One of the worst weeks of his life: losing QC, losing his mother, preparing to sacrifice himself . . . only Felicity wouldn’t let him do that. Not without fighting him every step of the way, not without her words finally making him realize how he felt about her. 

So it shouldn’t surprise him, really. He’s spent weeks working to answer the question of who Oliver Queen is. Asking what he wants, trying to become the kind of man he wants to be. The kind of man Felicity still believes he could be. And then, it takes just a few dreams, a few minutes of thinking, and a quick check of the time on his cell phone for him to know the answer to all the questions he has. 

“Felicity?” 

She glanced back at him from her computers, so like she always did in his dreams. “Yeah, Oliver?” 

Standing up, he walked over to her and oh-so-lightly rested his fingertips on her shoulder. Not as firm as he used to do, but he knew he’d have to work up to that. “Would you take a walk with me?” 

Her whole body tensed for a split-second under his touch, before she turned her chair around to look up at him. “What?” she asked, her eyes wide behind her glasses. 

Part of him is telling him to take it back. To make a joke about all the times he’s walked her to her car and ask her to return the favor. But . . . but he’s spent too much time hiding from her. From this decision. 

“It’s nearly sunrise. I thought we could take a walk,” he said quietly, looking into her eyes. “I’d like to do that. With you. So we could--so I could tell you something.” 

The only sign she hasn’t turned into a statue is how she’s blinking up at him. Like she really can’t believe this is happening. And admittedly, Oliver Queen wanting to take a walk during the sunrise? He understood her confusion. 

He squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll buy you a donut to go with your coffee,” he said, not looking away from her. “C’mon.” 

“What’s going on, Oliver?” she asked, gripping the arms of her chair. 

Of course she wouldn’t let him do the romantic thing, he thinks dryly, looking up at the ceiling for a moment. Not his Felicity. Not that a walk through the Glades and a donut breakfast was necessarily very romantic, but . . . but doing this in the Foundry, under the fluorescent lights and the damp seeping up from the floors? It’d be like a lot of other conversations they had over the years, but this time he wanted it to be different. He’s trying to send her a message.

“I’m done with maybes,” he said, returning his eyes to hers. “So I’d like to buy you the only breakfast I can afford and start the day with you.” 

_Just like how I want to start every day: with you_ , he thought to himself as he waits for her answer.

Because she’s Felicity and she’s a genius, he doesn’t have to wait long. She stood up and fumbled to pick up her coffee. “Okay,” she said, sounding breathless. He doesn’t know if it’s from hesitation or excitement, but he knew that just having her agree to go with him was a good sign. 

“Okay,” he said, smiling a little and gesturing for her to go first up the stairs.

When they stepped out of Verdant, he can see the sun just starting to crest the surrounding buildings, filling the streets with light. Felicity sighed softly. “It’s been too long since I saw a sunrise,” she said, looking at him and smiling. 

It’s on the tip of his tongue to tell her about his dreams, about all the sunrises they had together, the sunrises he thought were sunsets and how they helped him figure out what he already knew, but instead, he just smiled at her and said, “Me, too.” 

And while they walked down the street towards the coffee shop with the good donuts, and Felicity explained how the sunlight looked different depending on the time of day, Oliver finally guessed at what his dreams had meant. 

So he bought Felicity a donut, and ended up buying one for himself, too, after Felicity told him the last thing he needed was a wheat germ muffin and he should live dangerously. And somehow that turned into the kind of flirtatious conversation they used to have, and it felt so damn good to know he was the reason Felicity was smiling that he just blurted out that he loved her. And it had nothing to do with assassins listening in or protecting himself with double negatives or coyness. It was just about saying “I love you.” 

And proving that reality could be more wonderful than dreams, Felicity kissed him.

End.


End file.
